A Death in the Family?
by ParadigmShifter
Summary: Post-Chosen, Xander get's a visit from some of his Family... and decisions he put off are finally made. Cross: Neil Gaiman's 'Sandman'.


*Familiarity with the 'Sandman' graphic novels (first one, anyway) highly recommended!*  
  
*But I don't think there is anything that will be completely incomprehensible for those who aren't.*  
  
Anyway, enjoy...  
  
Disclaimer: Joss, WB, UPN et al. own Buffy. Neil Gaiman and his compatriots own the rights to the Sandman. Terry Pratchett owns the Discworld.  
  
Title: A Death in the Family?  
  
Author: Paradigm Shifter  
  
Rating: R. I say this as a warning. If you've read the Sandman graphic novels, it's not as bad, but if you've never seen hide nor hair of them, the R has a reason.  
  
Feedback: Yes please!  
  
Thanks: Bobby Cox: this is all your fault! All of it! :) I hope you still write that half-sequel to 'Walking with Skeletons', I wouldn't want to think this spur of the moment fic doesn't put you off...  
  
Notes: God only knows where this came from. LOL. Well, in truth, it's all Bobby's fault. [points finger dramatically in Bobby's direction] This'll teach me to mention the Sandman Collectors Editions...  
  
Any other random notes: The next part of 'For the Good of the Empire' will be posted (possibly) this weekend. My muse is currently focused on the continuation of 'Only by Blood' which will likely not be released until I have it all written. There is a lot of interweaving and whatnot in the plot, and I want to know I don't leave any gaping plotholes.  
  
*  
  
"How could you be so stupid?!" Death stalked round the man in a circle, watching each twitch and shift in posture. "Letting him do that to you! Honestly, there are times when I wonder how you could possibly be a brother of mine!"  
  
The man sighed, and shrugged uncomfortably. "Hey, it wasn't my fault, sis. It was that, or someone dies... and I know how fond you've got of some of the Potentials. You'd make my life a misery until Hell froze over if I let one of them die when I could have done something."  
  
Dream smiled slightly, and Death whirled on him. "And you! You're just as bad! Letting that fool and his son imprison you for so long! Do you have any _idea_ what happens when you don't Dream?"  
  
Dream shrugged. There seemed little point in getting worked up at this again. Death had a habit of going back over arguments again and again, picking at them until you gave in and admitted she was right. It was a trait that they all shared, but Death got the best of that deal.  
  
The one eyes man smirked at no longer being the target of his sister's ire. "Looks like we're both in the dog house, Dream."  
  
Death spun around again. "Don't think that you'll be out of it any time soon, Little Brother! Just be glad that you're not me. Do you have any _idea_ what I had to offer the Triumvirate to release that abominable Preacher from Hell? Do you? Be glad I never tell you!"  
  
Dream laughed. "After hinting like that, sister, there is no way you _wont_ tell us: if for no other reason than the guilt trip."  
  
Death smiled slyly. "Ah, you know me too well." Sitting on a nearby wall, she pulled her legs up and hugged her knees. "You, Dream, once made a deal with the Devil, in a way... for one of your possessions. You walked free, not by strength of arms, or terrorising them, but with sheer cunning. 'What power would Hell have, if people cannot dream of Heaven?' was the question you asked, I believe... well, in a way, even the Devil must fear Death. I simply... reminded them of that fact." She snickered. "Beelzebub wouldn't take the hint... Hells rulers: the Triumvirate... are now two."  
  
"You killed the Lord of Flies?" The man was aghast.  
  
Death shrugged. "It wasn't so hard. Insects aren't exactly designed for the Pits, you know. I simply... directed him there to visit. Once his wings were burnt away, his carapace didn't last long against the heat."  
  
"They tried their best to trap me, too." Dream reminded the man. "You must not forget that."  
  
INDEED NOT. A voice said. THE SCHEMING OF HELL MUST NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.  
  
Death waved a hand. "Hi, Death."  
  
HELLO. TELL ME, WHY ARE WE MEETING HERE?  
  
Dream shrugged, and gestured to the other man. "Cause Mr. Intelligent here had to go get his eye poked out, and then following the vengeance kick she's currently on, Death had to go get the guy who did it and make him pay." Dream tilted his head to the side, debating whether to add something else. "Personally, I think he deserved it... after all, with what he can do? Actin' human isn't the most intelligent ploy he can use..."  
  
Death grinned. Well, it was mostly unintentional. When you're a walking skeleton in a robe, it's hard to do anything else but grin. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE MAN WHO DID THIS? He asked the female Death.  
  
Death shrugged, and strolled over to drape herself round the skeleton. "Oh, he's acting out my fantasies... courtesy of Dream, of course..."  
  
EXCELLENT. WHERE IS HE NOW? I WISH TO... VISIT HIM. PAY MY... RESPECTS, SHALL WE SAY?  
  
Death smiled, and it was the smile of a predator. "Oh, I _like_ the way you think."  
  
Death and Death faded out as they walked away, and Dream was left standing watching his brother. Their eyes were locked, and both could see in the others gaze an understanding... of a sort.  
  
"Desire was asking about you." Dream began.  
  
"Was she, now?" the man retorted. "After her last stunt, I think she'd avoid me for a few centuries. I don't appreciate being Desire's plaything any more than you do." He shot a sidelong glance at his brother. "What happened to Unity?" Unity was one of the many who were worst used when Dream had his forced 'vacation' from his duties: she had fallen into a sleep for much of her life, even to the point that when she was raped – another of Desires twisted stunts – she bore and birthed her child without waking.   
  
"Unity Kincaid is dead, brother." Dream turned as the man walked up to him, and fell into step. "Death took her not long ago. Her grand-daughter... Rose... was a special girl. A nexus. A vortex..."  
  
"A dream destroyer." The man stated flatly. Every hundred years or so, a Vortex developed in the mind of mortals. It did not seem to follow a set pattern, and its mere existence threatened the dreaming: it broke down the barriers between individuals dreams, merging the whole of the dreaming into one enormous jumble. Once it had reached that stage, it was just a matter of time before the Dreaming collapsed in on itself, killing any and all within it. It was one of Dreams many duties to make sure that that never happened: it was a job he took extremely seriously; since he had failed in his task once before. While it was easy – relatively – to deal with the problem, it wasn't overly pleasant for the Vortex. Because they died.  
  
"Yes." Dream nodded. "In a way. But it is the result of something that even the Endless cannot control. Unity took Rose's heart, in her moment of death; she saved her grand-daughter from joining her."  
  
Dream saw the look he was being subjected to. "It really isn't as bad as it sounds. Rose is alive. And happy." He sighed. "It took her a long time to come to terms with what happened, but I imagine that you have had as many difficulties yourself?"  
  
The response was dry, and more than moderately sarcastic. "You could say that."  
  
"I just did." Dream gave a lopsided smile, and nodded in understanding. "Yes... having seen into your friends minds, in the Dreaming... I feared for you, little brother. Their petty scheming and dreams of grandeur could have killed you."  
  
"And yet they didn't, Dream."  
  
"No, they didn't." Dream said. "And I am glad of that. Desire, on the other hand... she was... livid."  
  
The response was accompanied by a snort of distain. "She would be."  
  
"She liked your friends. Especially the blonde." Dream bent down and scratched the ears of a dog as it trotted past, and laughed as the dog licked his hand. "The red-head, too, now I come to think of it. She never liked the red-heads boyfriend, though: too stoic. So she influenced her." Both men knew what he was referring to. Dream continued, almost to himself, "Both with great passions. Both with much of Desire within their hearts. If only they could have been turned from the darker passions."  
  
"Humans are driven by darker passions, Dream. Be it anger... jealousy..." he paused, and a bitter taste was in his mouth, "...lust. Vengeance. Instinct is base. It comes from a part of the mind they cannot exorcise, but cannot see inside of. It makes them... hard to control. Slayers are even worse: with a demon inside them too, they have to battle the twin natures warring within them." He sighed. "Besides, we both know that isn't how Desire works: she _likes_ the baser ways. She finds them... amusing."  
  
"She does. But it is not right for one of the Endless to toy so with another's life. Death... she has reason to. Although she does not toy. Neither is she needlessly cruel. In truth, it could be said that Death is the kindest of all the Endless... except you, perhaps... but Desire? Her pleasure comes from some twisted fantasy world that only she understands."  
  
"And yours? Where does your pleasure come from?"  
  
Dream smiled enigmatically. "My pleasure comes from within. If you can imagine it, I am there. Be it day-dream, or night-dream, good or bad: I am there."  
  
The man frowned. "Great. We've got another Cryptic Guy."  
  
Dream turned the question around on him. "Where does _yours_ come from then, brother?"  
  
"Mine?" the man looked genuinely taken aback. "My pleasure?"  
  
Dream nodded.  
  
"My pleasure..."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Mine... mine comes from seeing someone do the right thing."  
  
"The 'right thing'? What is that, exactly?"  
  
"You want me to answer that, too? What is this, twenty questions?"  
  
"No. I just wondered... if you would know. The 'right thing'."  
  
"I don't. I don't have an answer. When I do... it will be time for us to put up the chairs, turn off the lights and lock the door on our way out."  
  
Dream looked at him oddly. "Have you been talking to Death?"  
  
"Any more than normal? Other than begging her to turn a blind eye the next time one of my friends or I do something foolish? No." The man shrugged. "Why?"  
  
"Because that is her phrase. And an accurate one, I feel."  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
Dream suddenly changed the subject. "Puck was asking after you."  
  
"Really? What has he done now, to be needing me?"  
  
"Nothing that I am aware of. He has been in our realm since the Faerie last visited. 1593, I believe. He said something about, 'while he's nothing but an uptight Paladin, at least he has a sense of humour.'"  
  
"I think that is as close as Puck comes to a compliment, really."  
  
"Yes, that is as maybe. But he has something he wishes to discuss, at any rate. I wonder what?"  
  
"Who knows what Puck wants? He's a law to himself at any time."  
  
"He..." Dreamed paused. "Works for himself. But at the same time, he aids us. While Desire should rule him, she does not. It is... odd."  
  
"The faerie were a law unto themselves long before they left this world, brother. And besides, lots of what should be in this world isn't, Dream. You should know that."  
  
"Yes. Perhaps I should, at that." He sat down all of a sudden in the gutter. "It's night time. I should be busy, and yet... my creations can do much of my work. I merely... look in from time to time to make sure that everything is flowing smoothly."  
  
"So why aren't you?"  
  
"Looking in? I have no need, right now." Dream picked a cigarette end out of the dirt, and rolled it around in his fingers. "Amazing, isn't it? Such short lives, and yet they feel the need to find experiences and expressions to fill them."  
  
The man sat down as well, and looked out across the road to the store opposite. To the cashier staring out of the window they must have seemed a strange pair: one in filthy khakis and a green shirt, the other in an immaculate black leather coat with dirty midnight blue hair pointing in every which way and skin so pale it was almost translucent.  
  
The man turned away as he was caught staring, and Dream smirked. "He's a killer, you know..."  
  
"Who?"  
  
Dream gestured. "That man. The cashier: murdered his wife at the insistence of his mistress... and then found out that his whole lifestyle revolved around her and her access to money." Dream laughed. "And then his mistress left him. No money, no interest. So he works in a twenty-four hour supermarket, and prays every night that the cops don't catch him.  
  
"Of course, not that that really matters," Dream continued. "The cops catch him every night in his dreams. They don't need to catch him in life. He's so torn up with what he did that he'll join our sister soon enough. Another life... another pair of lives, ruined by Desires games."  
  
"Did you give him those dreams?"  
  
"I?" Dream seemed insulted. "I? No. No. He gives them to himself. No need for me to intervene."  
  
"Hm."  
  
"What? Are you judging me, now, brother?"  
  
"No. There's no justice, when all is said and done. None at all."  
  
Deaths voice came from behind him. "No, little brother: there is no justice. There's just _us_."  
  
INDEED. The seconds Deaths voice echoed. Then with a near insulted tone, added, THAT IS _MY_ LINE, YOU KNOW...  
  
Death shrugged, unapologetic.  
  
"And we... we are the final. The ultimate. _We_ decide. But then... so do they..." She gestured around her, indicating everything about her. "The people. We are here to serve... as much as to _be_ served."  
  
"Justice has no place in this?"  
  
"No. She doesn't. I read a book. In this book was a line you would do well to remember, brother: 'there is no such thing as justice: we content ourselves with Law.' Well, even with all the mortal laws, there are some that cannot be broken: the universes. Ours. We are a Law unto ourselves." Death said, and Dream stood up and moved next to her. "But I believe, somewhere, Honour has a place, instead of Justice."  
  
She turned away, and with a careless toss of her head and wave of her hand, said, "See you round, little brother!"  
  
Dream replaced his helm, and for the few seconds before Dream vanished, the man could see his reflection in the glassy eyes of the helm. What he saw frightened him.  
  
Then Dream vanished.  
  
The man sighed, and stuck his hands in his pockets. "There's no justice. There's just _you_, sis."  
  
I BELIEVE THAT IS WHAT SHE INTENDED TO SAY. IT WAS SOMEWHAT LOST IN TRANSLATION, THOUGH, I'M AFRAID.  
  
"Yeah? And what do you think, Tall, Thin and Bony?"  
  
I AM NOT PAID TO THINK. INDEED, I AM NOT PAID. BUT THE POINT REMAINS THE SAME: SHE CARES ABOUT YOU. THEY ALL DO, IN THEIR WAY. YOU CANNOT HIDE BEHIND THE MASK FOREVER, HONOUR.  
  
"Honour?" the man asked bitterly, "Precious little of that in the world!"  
  
AND STILL, YOU ARE ONE OF THE ENDLESS. WHAT DOES THAT SAY TO YOU?  
  
"That I'm an almighty cosmic joke?"  
  
NO. Death said. COSMIC YOU MAY BE, BUT JOKE YOU ARE NOT. HONOUR IS AS IMPORTANT AS ANY OTHER VIRTUE... BUT YOU WERE CHOSEN. DO NOT BESMIRCH THAT SINGULAR HONOUR. He grinned, and the blue pinpricks of light in his eye sockets seemed brighter at that instant. HONOUR? INDEED. IT WAS AN HONOUR TO TALK WITH YOU, HONOUR.  
  
"Thanks. I think. Say, where's the Rat?"  
  
HE IS... AROUND. I BELIEVE THAT TO BE THE BEST TERM. I DO NOT HAVE ANY CONTROL OVER HIM, REALLY. HE DOES AS HE WISHES. HE MIGHT SURPRISE YOU.  
  
"OK. I'll keep an eye out for him."  
  
BEST MAKE THAT TWO. Death said, almost amused. AND I FEAR I MUST BE OFF ON BUSINESS. THIS IS A TRYING TIME OF YEAR... BUT I AM SURE YOU UNDERSTAND THAT.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Death turned away, and Honour followed suit. Seconds later, he could hear the sound of hoof beats in the air as Binky took his master when and where he needed to be.  
  
Honour reached up for the eye patch he wore. Folding it up, he smiled to himself. "Guess I don't need to hide, anymore, do I?"  
  
SQUEAK. IK! IK. SQUI – IK!  
  
Xander dropped the eye patch in the gutter. "Thanks, Rat. I think you're right."  
  
*  
  
Review? Thanks. :) 


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